The Leap
by TCGeek
Summary: The dust has settled after a successful second battle with GUILT, and Derek and Angie use the quiet to figure out what's next. (Immediately post-UTK2)
1. Prelude

**I've updated stories, but it's been years since I've posted new content here. Hi!**

**Well, I think this might be the zillionth story I've written about these two and I guess I have no plan to ever stop. I'll be shipping this dead fandom until I'm 6 feet under.**

**THE GOOD NEWS: I am trying something completely new for me - writing in the first person narrative. This is a general set-up chapter but the next chapter will come from Derek's POV..**

**I guess I've never written a story about the immediate aftermath of UTK2, which is insane to me, but here it is. The rating is for the next chapter.  
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**Fair warning - these two chapters are all I'll post here, but the story will continue past this. If you want to read the rest, you'll have to go hunt down my Archive account. You'll see why at the end.  
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Yet again, Derek Stiles and Angie Thompson found themselves on a plane together.

It wasn't new by any means, but that didn't mean it had gotten any better for Derek.

No matter how many times they were whisked away, he fought constantly with nausea and a general fear of flying, looking seemingly foolish next to his well-traveled assistant. Instead of relaxing and keeping to her own devices, Angie spent a good portion of her flight caring for her doctor – hardly the picture he wanted to paint of himself, especially as more and more people recognized them.

Eighteen hours stood between them and the sweet sweet ground, though one bit of entertainment did present itself at the start of the flight: a letter from their colleague, Heather.

Angie had read her sweet, thankful words out loud to prevent Derek a bout of airsickness, and now he sat in silence with her, thinking it all over.

"I'm glad to hear that." he mused with a genuine smile. "It sounds like she's finally been able to settle down."

Angie nodded. "I'm sure she'll do fine there."

"Yeah…" Derek replied, trailing off momentarily before remembering the task ahead. "…Professor Irvine is a great cranial nerve surgeon, but he's also known for his involvement in the development of new procedures. If my training with him goes well, then maybe…"

Angie turned his way fully, dropping the letter into her lap and meeting his eyes with a bright smile.

"…I know you can do it, Doctor." she said, conviction clearly evident in her voice. "You're a one-of-a-kind surgeon who can pull off operations that no one else has ever attempted."

"Haha, thanks." was the half-hearted reply, a blush briefly touching his cheeks at the compliment. "I'll do my best, for Heather's sake."

Derek moved to turn away from her but was stopped in his tracks by her hand gently coming to rest on his. He glanced over at her, noting her serious expression.

"Dr. Stiles." she started with force that grabbed his attention. "You've always worked hard to make sure other people are happy…" she explained, hesitating before adding, "But… don't forget, you deserve a little piece of that happiness too."

His raised eyebrow caused her to giggle.

"And I'll make sure the girl who's always at your side takes that advice, too."

"Angie…"

After sending a warm, surprised smile her way, Derek dropped his head. He could feel her eyes on him while he thought on it, almost as if she was expecting an immediate answer.

And, unfortunately, there wasn't one to give.

Derek attempted to hide the overwhelmed feeling that had quickly overtaken him by picking up his gaze and nodding her way with a smirk.

"…thank you."

Her stare lingered on him as it usually did when this occasion occurred. It was a situation in which she wasn't fully accepting of a response he had given her without enough information to press him further. As his faithful right hand and the person he frequently admitted knew him better than even himself at times, moments such as these were becoming less frequent, which made them all the more troubling.

She finally frowned. "Are you okay? It seems as though I may have upset you."

"What?! No way – just the opposite, actually." he started. "I just…"

The true end to that sentence was honestly unknown, and he didn't feel like working with her to figure it out; especially on a long flight on which he already didn't feel the greatest. Instead, he sought an answer that was both factual and would appease her while he silently searched for the truth himself.

His hand reached up to scratch the side of his head, feeling the heat to his cheeks as he usually did when being forthright with his assistant.

"I just appreciate that you're always looking out for me, especially when I don't do it myself. I'm, uh… really not sure what I'd do without you."

Angie grinned at this. "Well, lucky for both of us, that's not something we ever have to worry about. If I haven't run yet, I think it's safe to say you're stuck with me."

He returned her smile but felt his cheeks grow hotter, to which she giggled and finally removed her attention from him. She was now focused on the large bag in her lap, from which she removed some personal effects and a small pillow.

Within a few minutes she had settled herself, world around her blocked out by music in her ears and a cover over her eyes. Derek worked to make himself comfortable as well, though no matter how he tried, he couldn't achieve the peaceful state that adorned his assistant's face. She was relaxed and seemed to be without a care in the world, quickly drifted off into a deep sleep as he sat nearby with anxiety festering within.

For the rest of the 18-hour flight, Derek drifted in and out of unsatisfying sleep, the same question on his mind every time consciousness returned:

What _did_ it mean for him to be happy?

-o-

"Here's your rosé, miss. And sir, your gin and tonic. I just placed the orders - your food should be out shortly."

"Thank you so much." Derek said to the waitress, Angie nodding along. They waited until she left and Angie held up her glass to him with a smile and a sparkle in her eye, to which he couldn't help but return.

"Alright, what are we toasting to?" he asked, a loud _'ha!'_ the response from his assistant.

"Oh, hmm, I don't know…" she joked with feigned ignorance as he chuckled at her. "Maybe _finally_ being done with GUILT? Getting a vacation? That one time a year we're actually able to drink? Not dying? New training? Not literally ripping each other's heads off during that whole mess? How much money we're about to blow at this insanely expensive restaurant?"

Derek was laughing by the end of her spiel, his shoulders shrugging. "Eh, I guess… you really can't think of anything better?"

Angie fake scowled and then began to laugh along with him while his shit-eating grin faded back to genuine and warm.

"As far as the restaurant goes, I don't feel bad one bit." he explained. "We most definitely deserve this, and I intend to order 90% of this menu to make up for all the meals I've missed over the last few months. I hope you'll do the same."

Angie giggled.

"But as for the rest of it, you're absolutely right. We've been through hell, Ang – and I'm glad we made it through together."

She smiled brightly. "Couldn't have said it better myself. Cheers."

As he clinked his drink against hers, Derek's smile faded slightly, thoughts reverting to what had been bothering him for the duration of their flight, and away from the brief - but welcome – distraction that she had provided.

Angie's eyes never left him as she took a sip of her wine, gingerly setting the glass down in front of her as her hands clasped together and rested on the table.

"Derek?"

"Hm?" he responded, setting down his drink as well when he noticed her sudden change in demeanor.

"Will you, um… will you please talk to me about what's bothering you?"

The question was softly spoken but direct, with a tone that both conveyed her concern but also her confidence that she was reading him correctly.

And in return, he simply sighed, looking down to his drink as his fingers traced the outer glass.

There was a delayed pause between the two of them, until he finally found an appropriate place to begin explaining himself.

"Ever since my dad died, everything that I've done in life has been in relentless pursuit of this career." he began slowly, voice low and weary sounding. "I wasn't exactly the best student in school – it took me a lot more work to do well, and for a while, I thought that I would be able to coast through like Tyler did. He was able to split his time between a ton of other fun things and school but I couldn't – and trying almost cost me everything."

He took in a deep breath. "So, after I got placed on academic probation, I buckled down; hard. My only priority was getting through school and trying to be the best doctor I could possibly be, because anything less felt like I would be a failure to my dad."

"Oh, Derek…" Angie said sadly.

He nodded. "But, that came at the cost of everything else. Anything that wasn't medicine was a distraction that I didn't allow to derail me. And after so many years of behaving in such a way, I realized after we talked on the plane that I don't know how to be happy outside of my job. I don't know how to strike the balance between work and my personal life, so I just kind of gave up on the latter. People think I'm uptight and that I take everything too seriously, but I had no other choice."

Derek took a slow sip of the drink in front of him, his counterpart waiting patiently. She knew him well enough to know that he wasn't finished yet, and so she sat, biding her time to force him to continue.

And continue, he did.

"It's still unbelievable to say out loud, but I'm near the top of my field." he admitted, the days of his self-centeredness long gone and view of himself more reminiscent of his humble beginnings. "I surpassed the goals I had for myself by such a huge margin that sometimes, it feels difficult to know where to go from here, professionally. But what I do know, is that one day, when I want or have to step back a bit and slow my pace, I'm concerned at what my life will look like if it's not dominated by being a surgeon."

Fingers traced the glass of his drink once more.

"The more we go through these close calls and difficult times, I'm aware that I need something outside of this. And while I know it isn't the first time you've said it to me, the conversation we had on the plane finally hit home today… I've never really had time to think about it before, but now that we're slowing down again, I sat the entire ride thinking it through and realizing that I honestly don't remember how to be happy."

Heaving a deep sigh, Derek hesitantly brought his eyes up to Angie. He chuckled once as if to downgrade the seriousness of everything that had just come spilling out, but could tell by the look on her face that she failed to accept his nonchalance. Her expression was sad, though somehow, she managed to convey understanding.

"There it is." he whispered with a wave of his hand and a chuckle, "I'm a mess."

"You are NOT a mess!" she exclaimed, smacking her hands down on the table to punctuate her disapproval. "I just… I had no idea."

Her elbow rested on the table as she reflected, chin propped up by her hand.

"I wish I could help you." she finally admitted with a sigh and defeated laugh of her own. "However, I seem to be in the same position."

She picked up her fork and pointed it his way playfully. "And what's less helpful than getting advice from someone who has absolutely no clue what they're talking about?"

He smiled and nodded.

"Honestly, Angie… there's a certain part of me that's really frustrated over this, but knowing I'm not alone in it is honestly helpful." he admitted. "Thanks for listening."

She smiled brightly.

"Anytime, Dr. Stiles."

Derek smirked, but it dropped quickly. There was a pit in his stomach he couldn't discern the origin of, but he suspected that it had to do with the abrupt end to their conversation.

He took another long sip of his drink.

After three years, Derek had come to enjoy the slow, personal moments that allowed them to be vulnerable with one another.

However - with Angie - professionalism would always reign.

-o-

"Something got you down, sir?"

Derek stalled momentarily, unsure of if the query was for him. The restaurant portion of the hotel still had patrons though the bar was empty, save for himself. A half-finished drink sat on the marble in front of him, his fingers tapping the rim of the glass until a random voice had broken the silence. Since no response had been given, he assumed the voice was in fact directed his way, and raised his head gingerly to find the bartender's eyes on him.

"Oh, I'm sorry." Derek apologized with a cordial smile that faded quickly. "I'm alright – there's just… a lot on my mind today." he admitted, raking a hand through his hair with a deep sigh.

The gentleman nodded knowingly, drying a glass in his hand with a small towel. "You know, they say a bartender is basically a cheap therapist – care to talk about it?"

Derek chuckled. "I wish. The situation is complicated, and I don't think anyone in the world could understand."

"Well…" the man started, setting down the glass in his hand and crossing his arms with an expectantly raised eyebrow. "You'll never know if you don't try."

Now it was Derek's turn to raise an eyebrow, eyes looking over the rims of his glasses to the persistent stranger. His gaze was comforting in some way, and the more Derek stared at him, the easier it seemed to pour out his troubles to someone he had known for a whole five minutes.

Derek sat up slowly, eyes never leaving the man in front of him. Self-reflection had taught him he wasn't exactly the most open book in the world, though the stiff drink in his hand was helping get him out of his shell, and fast.

"Alright…" Derek conceded, leaning back in his seat, lacing his fingers together, and resting them on his stomach. "I'm not going to go into excessive detail, but the basic gist is that I've poured so much of myself into my career that I have no personal life. I have no idea how to be happy outside of my job, and one day when I decide to step away from work or I can't do it anymore, I wonder what life will look like for me."

The bartender let out a low whistle. "Wow. Heavy."

Derek scoffed once and took a large swig of the drink in front of him, the glass clinking when he set it down. "Yeah."

He sighed again and dropped his head. "I mean, I always assumed that I'd have a life and pursuits outside of work… but I never expected that I'd be in the position I'm in now. I absolutely love what I do, but this career is so demanding that I barely have time to take care of myself sometimes."

He rubbed his hand over his forehead. "So, knowing that I have nothing but this, it makes me terrified for the day I'll have to leave it all behind."

The silence permeated for a moment before the bartender gently cleared his throat.

"Dr. Stiles…" he said, smiling as Derek's head snapped up with a shocked expression.

The man chuckled. "Yeah, sorry – you know everyone in this place knew the world-famous GUILT surgeon and nurse the second you guys walked in the door, right?"

"Heh… I did not. But, good to know." he responded with a smile and another sip of his drink.

The bartender placed both hands on the bar and leaned in, lowering his voice.

"Dr. Stiles, it's clear that you're the best around… that you love what you do." he began. "But remember that nobody in your position can do such a demanding job without also taking time to care for themselves. You can only give to other people when you have a full tank to draw from. Maybe you can maintain for the time being, but I suspect that if you don't do a better job working on your own happiness, you're going to burn out long before your time as a surgeon is up."

Derek raised his eyebrows in surprise, not expecting such a well-thought and poised answer from the man in front of him. The bartender just laughed at the surgeon's facial expression as he filled a glass of water and passed it across the bar.

"Listening to stories like this day in and day out has given me some experience. That, and all this grey hair." he said, pointing to his head.

Derek laughed and nodded. "I guess so."

"Well…" he continued, "Is there anything else in your life, besides being a surgeon and taking care of people, that brings you happiness? Like, if you had to quit tomorrow – what would you have left?"

"Oh God, all the friendships I've made." Derek replied instantly, his heart full at the thought of it. "I work with some truly amazing human beings. Surgeons, researchers, secretaries, nurses…" he listed, hitch in his voice as it quieted and he added, "…my assistant. They're all so unbelievably important to me…"

He trailed off while thinking it over.

After waiting out a brief silence, the man nodded in understanding.

"See? You're not as empty handed as you think you are. I suspect somewhere in your mind, you've coped with the fact that it'll be physically impossible for you to do your job one day. That such a physically and mentally demanding job will be too much or non-ideal for you as you age… no?"

"Yes, of course."

"So then: it is possible that what's bothering you is the threat of losing those relationships?"

"I…"

There were no more words to say.

Immersing himself in that reality, if only momentarily, was enough to turn his world upside down.

The benefit to spending his whole life at work was that somewhere along the way, all his coworkers had become family. They were there to commemorate every high, and were a shoulder to cry on in every low. Holidays, birthdays, and anniversaries were celebrated shoulder to shoulder. Every major life event, every minor detail, every day – they spent it together: laughing, fighting, and everything in between. His colleagues, past and present, knew him better than his own flesh and blood, and the thought of not seeing them, not being with them, was soul-crushing.

"Yeah. It'd be unbearable."

It was the only thing Derek could manage to choke out. It was surprising, but he had to concede that this stranger had burrowed to the inner depths of his soul without much effort at all.

"Makes sense." the older man responded. "Any of those friendships have the potential to be more than that?"

The answer was instant in his mind, and he visibly flinched in surprise. This was a topic and situation that he avoided at all cost, so, such a visceral response was confusing, at best.

But in this moment, with no other distractions, he had to admit that the thought of life without her tightened his chest in a way he never expected.

Before falling too far down that rabbit hole, Derek did what he did best in this situation and pivoted. He slowly dragged his eyes up, now on the receiving end of a knowing but empathetic stare. Eyes tracked down to the silver name tag on the gentleman's chest, which shone against black letters that spelled the name "Pete".

He cleared his throat with a disheartened chortle.

"So, my bartender therapist Pete…" he said with a soft smile, to which Pete laughed. "…since you hit the nail on the head, tell me…"

Pete watched as Derek's smile dropped.

"What in the hell do I do now?"

Pete let out another low whistle and rested both hands on the bar. He hesitated for a moment in thought.

"Well, I don't know your exact situation…" he began, "…but all you need to know is this:"

He leaned forward.

"Life is short. If all those people you love don't know that you love them, tell them. Tell them why, and tell them often. Make time for them – make them a priority. You never know when it will be too late."

Derek dropped his head with a nod. This man knew his shit.

"And, Dr. Stiles?"

Derek raised his head just in time to see a smile trickle over the older man's face.

Pete leaned in even closer and lowered his voice.

"Take the leap." he said, just above a whisper. "Whether or not you think she feels the same way, tell her. Every day you hold it in is another day you waste."

He gently pointed his finger Derek's way.

"If you think_ you_ can be the one to make her happy, make damn sure she knows. Then, deliver."

Derek sat, shocked.

His mouth dropped open slightly, though no words came out. Now desperate for a follow-up, he was disappointed when all he received in return was a wink, before Pete graciously backed away and let his advice sink in. Derek remained rooted in place, now regrettably alone with his thoughts.

Or more accurately, 'thought'.

"…_what… the… fuck?"_


	2. Derek

**Derek**

Like I was getting any sleep after that.

My lungs heave out what is probably the millionth sigh of the night, my tired body frustrated at my incessantly spinning mind and its refusal to let me get some damn sleep. I roll from stomach to back and stare up at the blank ceiling, my legs kicking as I attempt to unknot them from my sheets. I've been tossing and turning since the moment I laid down, and two hours later, I'm waving the proverbial white flag: I'm not getting to sleep anytime soon.

Slowly I rise to sit, my hand batting around on the bedside table until I locate my glasses and place them on the bridge of my nose. My eyes scan out the window to the bright lights of the city, before tracing the shadows down across the floor and to the empty space in bed next to me. I linger there, and I feel alone like I never have before.

That space has been empty since I've been an adult - save for a few one-nighters - but it's never bothered me as much as it does tonight.

During GUILT and its aftermath, the blessing in being that busy is that it doesn't leave me any time to get caught up in my own head.

Now, I'm screwed.

Romance hasn't been part of my life for a long time. Sure, there is the occasional flirt, the cute girl that I take notice of, the times years ago where I tied one on and woke up in someone else's bed, but that's the extent of it. According to Tyler, I am "completely naïve" or "as dense as they come" when it comes to women, but I always shrug it off. He's not totally right - I notice and understand more than he thinks I do. I have a general idea of when someone is coming onto me, but after years of ignoring women and treating them as an unwanted distraction, I'm still truly surprised when it seems like anyone out there would show interest in me.

However, what started out as general cluelessness has morphed since my career has rocketed me into the elite, and now every encounter with women has me skeptical of true intent. It's a slippery slope to navigate, as my "naivety" always has me wanting to see the best in people without the experience to decipher it for myself.

Simply put, I'm never sure if someone likes me for me, or for my status.

And that little conundrum is half of the reason I'm lying in bed alone tonight.

The other half, that I've come to identify this evening, is because of the woman sleeping soundly in the room next to mine.

I flop back against my pillow with – you guessed it – another sigh.

"Who would've thought a fucking bartender would screw me up so bad…" I mutter to no one, suddenly glad I don't have enough spare time to hang out in bars.

I replay our conversation again, now at a number so high I've lost count. It started with what Angie said on the plane and the conversation with Pete brought it full circle. Both seemed to point to the conclusion that I have everything I want in life, except someone to share it with. When I step away from being surgeon, it'll be long too late to start looking for my soulmate.

I have to start now.

It's more than just talking about retirement. I didn't mind at first, but close call after harrowing experience hit home this time around. I'm almost thirty, and if I want to stop myself from burning out, I need a life of my own. A wife, kids – these are things I've always wanted, but I never imagined my life would have turned out the way it has. I've literally helped save the world twice – but how much longer do I want to keep giving everything of myself at the expense of my personal happiness?

The scary part is, the more I think it over, Pete's right. It feels like the answer is smacking me upside the head: I _do_ have someone special to share it all with. It's the same person I share _everything_ with. The woman who knows me more fully than I've ever let someone know me before.

But there are two problems here:

One, am I placing her in that light out of convenience or proximity? Am I thinking she's the one for me because it'd be the easiest, logistically? I see her every day, I wouldn't have to explain to someone else why I spend so much time with another woman, it'd be simple for her to understand my crazy schedule and mood swings because she lives them right beside me…

I finally roll to the edge of bed and plant my feet on the carpet, hands nearly strangling the edge of my mattress. My head drops and my eyes close. I try a deep centering breath, and they slowly blink open as I realize I'm the stupidest man alive.

I've had it for Angie for as long as I can remember.

As convenient as it would be to create an excuse here, there's no other explanation.

People have berated the hell out of us for years, our every move picked apart in a "will-they-or-won't-they?" type fashion. And just like always, I've gotten good at ignoring them, playing the idiot while the answer nagged at me from within:

She's everything I've ever been looking for, and I apparently fell in love with her without ever seeing it coming.

I shake my head and my hands reach up to grip it firmly. Why am I just figuring this out tonight? How have I gotten so good at pushing this into the depths of my soul? Maybe I really am as dense as Tyler makes me out to be, but I don't think that's the answer. Everything is hitting me like a freight train – three years of memories are fighting for attention in my mind, and I'm stuck trying to piece it all together.

It makes sense, right? We spend nearly every waking moment together. We've been through literal hell and back right by each other's side, and though we're both too stubborn to admit it in a controlled setting, I remember our near-death experiences vividly.

Weirdly enough, they're some of my favorite memories.

Without trying, I can tell you every sweet word she ever spoke to me during those times, as it was as vulnerable as she had ever been with me. I remember the way her hand feels in mine the few times I've held it, the soft sigh she let out the time we were in captivity and I gently kissed her forehead and pulled her in for a tight embrace. I can recreate the feeling of her lips on my cheek and the look in her eyes when I told her how special she was to me, while stopping short of fully showing my hand.

And until tonight, I never realized how often I called on those memories. How often I replay them when I'm feeling down, lonely, or when I need to feel loved.

It isn't the actions that get me.

It's the person I shared them with.

Sure, when they happened, we weren't sure if we were going to live the next ten minutes or not. If we were going to die together, we were going to do it on a good note instead of ripping each other's heads off, as we were sometimes prone to. However, those words, those moments - they were proof that there's _something_ there. That we could be open and truthful with each other before snapping back into a professional space where we both act like stubborn children and she refers to me as "doctor".

Which brings me to point two of this whole mess:

Now I'm terrified, because I'm not sure that she feels the same way.

And maybe that's the reason I've never allowed myself to entertain this reality:

For my own protection.

I rise to my feet and pace over to the doorwall, sling a blanket around my shoulders, and step out onto the terrace. The air is brisk and almost stale, a harsh reminder that I'm a long way away from the warm, ocean breeze of home. I lean on the railing and look out over the horizon, hoping desperately for some sign from above that will tell me what the fuck I'm supposed to do now.

She's _incredible_ at being a professional. Sure, she loses her temper from time to time, but besides being friendly to most everyone she meets, there's no crossing the line for Angie Thompson in her place of business. And because pretty much all we do together is business, there have been very few instances where I get to test that limit. Even when we're off the clock we're normally surrounded by mutual work friends, onlookers that are waiting for us to give them something to run with.

I hear how they talk about us all the time – it used to be hush-hush, and now they do it right to our faces. They poke and prod and while it's infuriating, I've found my best defense is to ignore it – play it off. The times I get upset it just fuels the fire, and it's become very important to shut that shit down as quick as possible…

…because I can see in her eyes how it affects her. Every. Single. Time.

I ask myself "why?" as I abandon the railing in favor of sitting in the chair behind me. She's worked so hard to get to this point, and I'm sure she doesn't want people attributing her success to her sleeping her way to the top. She's also incredibly private – opening up to our friends has been a slow process for her, though she has been working at it, by her own admission.

Maybe she's in the same position I am – fighting back thoughts of us in fear that it'll end in one-sided heartbreak. If that's the case, I'm sure having people push us is like a constant twist of the knife.

At the heart of it, I think we both know that their insistence comes from a good place – a place of loving both of us, wanting happiness for us, and seeing that we could find it together. But that still doesn't make it any easier to tolerate.

At this point, my stomach is in knots and my chest is on fire. I'm furiously playing through every moment the two of us have ever experienced together, trying to find some shred of evidence that I'm not alone in this. Have I gotten so good at ignoring women that I've missed something huge? Have people been after us this whole time because they see it in her eyes, as well? This is a big risk for both of us – a failed romantic relationship could put our partnership in jeopardy, and maybe it's something we've both known and unconsciously been trying to side-step?

Maybe she's been waiting for me to give her a sign, and I've been playing dumb for so many years that she's convinced herself it's not going to happen? It's worked the opposite way for three years – she's had me certain that she would never break a professional barrier. So certain, that until just this moment, I never realized it could be a possibility that my future has been right under my nose this whole time.

_"I just… I wish I could help you… however, I seem to be in the same position."_

I recall her words from dinner, and they're adding fuel to the fire. My hands are clasped in front of me, my leg bobbing like crazy as my thoughts race so fast they're barely cohesive.

She's the one who brought all of this up, and reiterated it the same day. It seems as though we're both finally drilling it into our thick skulls that after another insane round of warfare at work, we deserve more.

We deserve happiness. We deserve love.

And I'm about to go find out if it's going to be with each other.

Before my mind catches up, my body is off the terrace and in the bathroom. I've got a toothbrush jammed in my mouth with one hand, the other furiously working to make my hair look like something human, to little avail. I spit and rinse and stride back to my nightstand, where I'm hopping into sweatpants and then jamming personal effects in the pockets. I nearly tear my sweatshirt down over my head, my shoes are on, and I'm at my door before I know it, trying to catch my rapid breath.

My rational mind is shouting at me to hold the fuck up and think this through, but I'm done thinking. I've been talking myself in circles all night, and if I stop now, I'm going to spend another three years trying to fool myself into thinking that this girl is nothing more than my assistant.

Pete hit it dead on.

It's time to take the leap.

A quick turn of the door handle and no more than a handful of steps later I'm in front of her door, chest heaving. My mouth is dry, my legs are numb, my heartrate _has _to be above 200. I'm in legit SVT over this girl, and I chuckle to myself about it while hoping I'm able to find the courage to knock on her door. Of all the bad ways this could end, the worst would probably be passing out from tachycardia related hypotension on her stoop and her finding me dead in the morning.

I chuckle again. It's just the sort of joke she would appreciate.

Spilling my guts won't be hard. The hardest part of this whole thing is the knock. Other times, I've been able to pivot to another explanation for my actions when I've gotten close to crossing a line, but knocking on her door in the middle of the night in this state is only explainable with the truth. Knocking on this door finally forces my hand after three long years of this dance.

My eyes close, I hold my breath, raise a mostly-numb arm, and my knuckles make contact. I don't hear a sound because my heart is hammering in my eardrums, but the residual sting on my skin tells me it happened. I rest my right forearm on the doorframe, my body leaning forward until my forehead nearly meets the door, and then I hear it:

One click of the deadbolt, followed by the handle turning.

It opens a crack at first to reveal who's at her door this late, and then enough to reveal a tired-looking Angie, wrapped up in the hotel's fluffy, white robe. We're almost nose to nose when she opens the door but she quickly steps back and puts enough space between us to look me over, the sleep in her eyes instantly disappearing as she meets my gaze.

"Hey – are you okay?" is her immediate query, her eyes filled with concern. I can say with certainty I've never looked at her this way before, and I _know_ it's throwing her. For two people who rely on nonverbal communication, a stare you can't identify is unbelievably nerve-wracking and usually cause for instant worry.

I'm frozen in place. My heart is still jackhammering itself towards my sure demise, but I can't tear my eyes from hers. After everything we've been through, after three years of trying to make sense of our relationship, I'm finally seeing her in a way I've never allowed myself. This intelligent, incredible, stunning woman in front of me is very obviously the love of my life, and all I can do now is hope that I'm about to make the right decision by telling her so.

"Derek." she reiterates, slight fear audible now that I've been standing here in complete silence. "You're scaring me – what's wrong?"

It's in this moment that the magnitude of this situation hits me. This is either the start of something amazing, or I'm about to ruin the best friendship I've ever had.

She stares at me with wide, uncertain eyes as I drop my arms to my sides and start moving toward her, our gaze never breaking. I can think of a million things I want to tell her in this moment but I never find a good enough place to start. I just keep moving.

But as it turns out, words don't matter. Before I have time to say a thing, I've closed the distance between us. My body is acting on its own accord now, my hands up and on her face, fingers brushing back through her hair until I'm holding her gently in my palms. In her surprise, her hand releases the open door and it slams behind us, leaving us alone in the darkness with the moonlight trickling in. It illuminates her enough to show that her mouth is slightly open in complete shock, and I smile just briefly at the look of wonder in her sparkling eyes before moving forward and catching her lips with mine.

Every word I could have ever spoken is instead manifested in the way I kiss her, years of pent-up bullshit finally finding it's release. This is the turning point: I've finally manned up enough to push the envelope in a way that makes it perfectly clear what my intentions are. There's no going back from this – we're going to face this head-on, right here, right now.

This is the leap, and I pray to God I land on my feet.

But then it hits me, and my celebration is short-lived:

She's not kissing me back.

Cold dread spreads through me like wildfire, my heart dropping so quickly that I'm sure it's put a hole straight through my stomach. I'm panicking, confidence crashing and burning like a literal train wreck. I'm afraid that I may have moved too quickly and without enough thought, and that I'm terrifying this poor, tired girl in the middle of the night with something she wants no part of.

What in the fuck was I thinking?

"_Just pull back."_ my mind shouts, competing with the other million thoughts currently swirling. _"Tell her you're drunk! It'll be awkward, but maybe you can salvage things. Anything is better than this!"_

And as I go to heed the advice of my brain, I'm stopped in my tracks as I feel gentle hands come to rest on my chest and soft lips placing the slightest pressure against mine.

The voices in my head are suddenly silent, and nothing else matters anymore. I'm not alone in this – there's absolutely no way I can be. This can't be a pity kiss, right?

I'm still hesitant, but if this is the only chance I'll get to experience this, I'm making sure to soak it all in.

Her lips are soft and full, her skin is silky under my fingertips, and I'm enveloped by the scent of her – the scent that I love, but that I've rarely experienced in such close proximity. I linger for a moment just as we are to commit the sensation to memory, but I'm desperate to know what's going to happen next.

I reluctantly pull back and it's clear that I've stunned her, her eyes blinking open on a delay while all I can do is try to fight a grin.

Green eyes finally lock with mine, bewilderment and shock obviously at the forefront though she's dazed in what seems to be a good way. Her eyes dart back and forth between mine, silently expecting an answer though I'm in absolutely no rush to get through this moment.

"Um…" her voice cracks, and she clears her throat gently. "Uh… w-what?"

I chuckle softly and run my fingers the rest of the way through her hair and down her arms until my hands reach hers. I pull them into my chest and take a small step back, and then I look back up at her with all the love I can manage.

The back of her hand is against my chest, and she notices my erratic heart immediately.

"God, Derek – your heart!" she exclaims softly, starting to put the pieces of the puzzle together as told by her changing expression. The late-night visit, the unexpected kiss, the heart beating out of control – all signs point to something huge, and she knows it. It's making her a bit uneasy, but she doesn't try to move away from me. I have her undivided attention and her stare demands an explanation.

I've got one shot at this, and it's now.

I take a breath in as best I can.

"After our talk today…" I somehow manage to croak out, though my mouth is so dry that my tongue is sticking to the roof of it. "…I think I finally came to my senses."

A silence passes between us before she goads me on.

"About…?" she queries.

I smile. She's going to make me spell it out word for word. I don't blame her. We've skated around this long enough.

"About you." I answer. "And I. And the fact that the reason I've never gone looking for happiness elsewhere is because it's been working beside me for three of the best years of my life."

I think this is the widest I've ever seen her eyes in all the time we've known each other, but it's warranted – this is _very_ unlike the man she's come to know. I've just knocked the wind out of her – I can tell the way by her chest has begun picking up speed. Her eyes are still furiously searching me for more information, so I start talking again.

"Ang…" I begin, squeezing her hands with mine. "If I never worked another day as a surgeon, the only thing worse would be a life where I don't get to spend every day with you."

I laugh for a moment when I think of how long we've been avoiding this, but then my eyes bore into hers and I become as serious as a heart attack. I want her to understand how much I mean these words, so instead of veering off at the last moment like we usually do, I plow forward with something I've never given her in all our time together.

Complete, gut-wrenching honesty.

"I'm tired of screwing around and pretending like it's nothing, because I _know _there's something here." I say with conviction. "I feel something for you that I've never felt for anyone before, and I can't ignore it anymore. I'm in love with you, Ang. And I think I have been for longer than I've been able to admit."

Her green eyes are quickly clouding with tears, and I can feel the pressure in my chest releasing, my heart slowing itself as I throw everything I've got on the table. I can say I'll be glad I took a shot no matter how this turns out, but it's a crock of bullshit – my number one goal is to bare my heart and soul to this woman and do whatever I can to convince her that we're meant for each other.

She breaths in a shuttering, unsteady breath and blows it out slowly, her head nodding as she comprehends what I've said to her. I can't blame her for taking a minute – I've never once been this direct with her, and she's skeptical of trusting most everyone after all she's been through. I get it.

She looks down at our clasped hands, and then steps into me just slightly.

"Derek…" she says, quietly. I watch a tear track down her cheek, and I can't breathe. My future is in her hands, and I'm frozen.

Slowly, her head turns up my way and there's a gleam in her eyes that I'm trying to decipher, when four words hit me like a ton of bricks:

"I love you, too."

It comes on a whisper, but I've never heard anything so clear in my life. I almost ask her to repeat herself to make sure I'm not going crazy. But instead, I stare back at her in search of truth and find it in emerald eyes swimming in fresh tears and a small, loving smile that tells me everything.

I _am_ the person who can make her happy.

And now, she knows.

My hands drop hers and reach for her face, her head bending back as our mouths crash together again. Unlike last time, her lips are anything but timid, going toe to toe with me as I kiss her like it's my last day on Earth. Her tiny frame is flush with mine, her arms tightly wound around my body and gripping onto me for dear life. This kiss – the one where we're finally together after all these years – drops the entire weight of the world off my shoulders. My anxiety, my every worry in life is gone, replaced by a heart that's full in a way I've never experienced.

I'm like the fucking Grinch after he gives back Christmas and develops cardiomyopathy.

It's clear we've had some pent-up feelings to release, as we don't have a damn word to say to each other right now. We're on the same page - just like always - and now that it's out in the open, this is getting heated quickly. Our tongues are firmly intertwined, and I can't help but groan when her fingernails rake through my hair and pull me closer. I respond by slipping my hands down to her waist and pulling her taut against me with a slight grind that makes her gasp and lean heavily into me.

I'm pissed because this robe is so fucking thick that I can't feel her like I want to, but I'm unwilling to test the waters by slipping my hands inside even though I'm growing quickly desperate to feel every inch of her warmth against my own. I've got so much lost time to make up for, and I'd be lying if I said that I didn't wish tonight would be my chance to do so.

And then, realizing how close we are to hitting a point of no return, I reluctantly pull away, cold air taking the place of the heat we were creating. I look her over with a smirk: her hair is wild, tangled from my hands, and her lips are red, swollen. She stares me down, chest heaving, matching mine, breath for breath.

We do a silent battle like this for a moment before her voice breaks through the night.

"…why'd you stop?"

A throbbing length in my pants is asking me the exact same question, so I answer loud enough for them both to hear.

"Ang, we just hit each other with this huge thing, and I want to make sure you have time to process. I know you don't make decisions like this on impulse."

She nods and her arms slowly cross in front of her body, eyes focused on the ground while the wheels turn.

"You know me well." she finally concedes with a smile.

"I know I do." I say with a somewhat forced grin. I secretly hate that she's agreeing with me, but I understand all the same. I don't want to stop, but the last thing I want is to screw this up.

"But, Derek…"

My heart lurches in my chest at the change in her tone, hoping it's not over yet. I'm staring her down like a hawk but she's taking her time, a small smirk on her lips as she continues looking at the ground.

She shifts her weight once and then slowly turns her gaze up to meet mine with a fire behind her eyes I've never seen. They're shining against what little light is spilling into the room, and I don't think I'm breathing anymore when she finishes her sentence.

"…I've never been _anything_ but sure about you."

I smile lovingly at her and take two steps forward until we're nose to nose again, our eyes laser focused on one another. I'm dying to ask a million follow-up questions about that sentence, to have her tell me everything she feels and how long I've been blind, but I know it'll come later.

On that note, I reach my left hand up and softly brush her bangs away so I can see her face in its entirety, and then I trace my thumb over her cheek. She watches me intently with a slight, loving smile and I return it as I feel my eyebrow raise.

"You're positive?" I ask her once more with a low, gravelly voice that I barely recognize as my own. I'm still terrified that she'll back out, but I'd never force her into this. It's completely her call.

She smiles sweetly, seemingly appreciative of my concern.

"Thank you, but, um… just so you know…" she explains, trying to meet me halfway in being direct and vulnerable, though I can tell it's not coming easy for her.

"…this decision was made _long_ before tonight."

Though they come on an unsteady voice, her words are a knockout punch. My heart has just exploded and I've only got seconds to live: I'm sure of it. My eyes are so big they have probably fallen out of my head, and I wonder momentarily if that's a sexual dealbreaker before snapping back into reality.

Yes, she really did just say that to me.

I stand still and try to fight the grin of a lifetime, but I'm woefully unsuccessful. I process her words for a moment, and then she gives me a slight nod.

It's all I need.

Now, my foot is off the brake.

For good.

"Thank _God_." I huff out, and she's instantly in my arms again.

This time, there's a slight difference. The hunger, the fire are still there, and I'm not moving slowly by any means, but at the same time, I'm not rushing. I'm definitely not a virgin, but making love to someone is an experience I've never had before; and therefore, the stakes are high. I'd bet big money that this woman is my future wife, and for our first time, nothing is going to stop me from experiencing every single inch of her – from giving her everything she's ever needed or wanted.

Her hands are scratching through my hair again and I've hauled her body up against mine as tightly as I can. I'm kissing the hell out of her, spurred forward by her intermittent sighs and moans that tell me I'm on the right track. My hands run down her back and firmly grab her hips, and I grunt in frustration: I've had enough of this fucking robe. I need the feel of her skin against mine, and I'm not willing to wait any longer.

She gasps when I suddenly spin us to the side and edge her backward with each step I take, our lips still fused together. A second gasp echoes through my mouth when I knock her against the wall, my frame now all but crushing her against it. I smother her with one more soul-stealing kiss, and then my lips are across her cheek. I take her earlobe in between my teeth at the same moment my hands hit the bow holding this stupid robe shut, and I slowly pull on one of the tails like I'm unwrapping the best gift I've ever gotten.

When I feel the material give way, I peel us apart. My hands gently pull the robe open and I'm speechless at the sight of a black silk nightie that leaves very little to the imagination. Somehow my hands brush the fabric off her shoulders and I hear it hit the floor, even though it's physically impossible for my eyes to abandon the sight in front of me. The silk hugs some incredible curves: full breasts with nipples just barely visible through the fabric, a tiny waist I could probably fit both hands around, and beautifully curved hips that I can't wait to grip on to. At the bottom is a slit that nearly shows the place I'm dying to be, and while my thoughts nosedive into the gutter, a small giggle hurdles me back toward Earth.

I finally drag my gaze upward, and her expression is priceless. I'm sure I'm completely slack-jawed at the sight of her, and all she's doing is biting the corner of her lip with a smirk that makes me want to take her right here against this wall.

I chortle once, still in disbelief at the sight in front of me. This sight – this singular moment – is how I see her in the secret depths of my mind, when I'm lying alone at night wishing she were with me. And now that I'm standing here with my smokeshow of a dream woman barely clothed and ready to give herself to me, I'm having a hell of a time believing this is real.

Desperate to make sure I'm not dreaming, my hand moves forward and I catch the hem of the nightie between my fingers.

"So, uh…" I start, my voice husky, deep, and full of want. "…this is what you wear to bed every night?"

Suddenly, her sexy smile disappears and her hands reach for me. They latch onto my shirt and pull me into her, her head tipping back until we're nose to nose. Her lips part and mine follow suit, but instead of kissing me, she whispers the answer into my mouth:

"…Only when I know you're going to be in the next room."

It's an unexpected reply that knocks me flat on my ass, and when I rear back, she winks with a smirk. She's quickly growing out of her discomfort and awkwardness, and I'm loving every second. Her unabashed confidence is without any doubt the sexiest thing I've ever witnessed, and I'm more turned on than I ever thought possible.

I chuckle at how she can be so sexy and adorable at the same time. Then, I look deep into her eyes, and two things are clear as day:

This woman really loves me.

…And I'm _definitely _not the only one that hoped this line would be crossed tonight.


End file.
